I kissed my first boy when I was seventeen at a public park. I don't know why. I was seduced. He then took me home, but since I could barely speak to him -- something about me throwing away my first kiss -- he kinda thought that was the end of the relationship. So he said to me: "You know, Marie, it's okay for people to hold hands and even to kiss once in awhile. I really think you need to realize that" before dropping me off. My brand new sister but very old friend Trina was at my parents house when I got home, along with my fourteen year old brother Nick. Trina and I sat on the couch in the front room, I told her what I'd done, and I laid my face down on the middle cushion and cried.
(P.S. I kissed that boy again, several times in fact. Almost always at public parks. Cheap date? I think so.)
I kissed my second boy when I was -- woah, I never realized this -- seventeen. Let's clear this up, folks. It was almost the end of my seventeenth year. I've got some elbow room here, okay? Anyhow, I was now a senior, and was butt-crazy in love with the very best and most talented dancer in the whole school. I mean let's be honest, girls: we all love a man who can dance. Every time I saw him do his quadruple pirouette, my heart just spazzed. It was the end of the most romantic night of my whole life up to that point -- Winter Ball. I was showing a little too much skin (a sin I have repented of), he'd held my hand, and we'd sipped virgin margarita's over candlelight. Sigh. We walked out to the car at the end of the date, swinging hands. He asked "Do you want me to kiss you goodnight?" Huh? I was truly tongue tied. I didn't know what to say! I said "I don't know how to answer that!" He (being the smooth criminal he was) then said, leaning oh-so-slowly towards my face: "How about like this?" and laid his lips on mine. And I felt -- nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'd had better times kissing my own hand. What can I say? It was deeply disappointing. I was in talent-love with this man! He hugged me, got in the car, and the last thing I said to him that night was "That was weird!"
(P.S. That same boy broke my clueless heart a few months later during the movie "Shrek." Ruined it for me for years!)
I kissed my third boy just a few months shy of nineteen. I was an adult now, I was absolutely positive about that fact -- I was a University student, after all -- I'd had my heart shattered, I'd lived away from home for several months, I was totally grown up! I'd been dating this boy for over three months, but I just couldn't kiss him. I knew once I did, I would be a goner. Forever. Never to return. This boy was like L.S.D., I just knew it. I would be forever altered if I kissed him. And I gotta admit, he was hot. And good. And funny like quirky. And ... I was pretty much sure he was the most. perfect. human. being. on. the. face. of. the. earth. So I definitely couldn't, couldn't, shouldn't, kiss him. I was going to be an actress, and his cuteness was going to ruin it! I shouldn't kiss him. I couldn't kiss him!
But I did.
One night, snuggling on my parents couch, his heart pounding so hard it was actually shaking my head, and a look in his eyeballs that every woman whose been loved recognizes. We had our first kiss.
And it lasted one half of an hour! It seems I have a healthy appreciation for kissing.
I had rug-burn from his five o'clock shadow.
I'd like to call myself a seer, because I knew I shouldn't kiss him because I'd never be able to stop and I was right. Still can't stop. Don't want to.
I did, and this is a fact, see fireworks and hear the national anthem in my head during one particularly zealous goodnight kiss a few weeks into our kissing career.
That boy could kiss!
And I married him.
Good for me.